I Think I Would Die
by eden alice
Summary: You wish you could at least cry for her. A Ronnie piece after Danielle's death


Author's notes- Damn it. Looks like I have been drawn into Eastenders fanfiction again. I haven't written any for a good few years but friends got me watching the soap again and I am fascinated by Ronnie and *sigh*. This is a short piece I used to get into the characters head (because it is always easier for me to do this when they are at their lowest). Just a warning that it is not very happy. Title comes from a Hole song, I know can't listen to Courtney Love scream "Where is my baby?" without thinking about Ronnie. Also I am very out of touch with EE fanfiction, does anyone know anywhere else I could post EE fanfiction? I used to use a message board called EE World but it is closed now and I feel a little lost. I'd appreciate it if anyone can let me know.

I Think I Wold Die

You are not normal; the thought has always lurked in a dark corner of your mind infecting your thoughts in your most self-destructive moments, it's in full prominence now. You are not normal, you are broken inside, messed up and everything you touch you destroy.

It must be true or else why can't you cry?

You wonder if you have always been like this. Maybe your father could see it in your eyes and that was why he was always so cruel. Or maybe when your baby was torn from your arms a vital part of you went with her.

You don't remember ever feeling whole. There has always been an aching empty feeling that you have trained yourself never to show others.

The cold image you put out is currently the only thing holding you together and you can burry yourself in routine even under your sisters watchful concern. Life goes on without your little girl and you never really had her anyway.

You can not sleep at night, the darkness makes you feel small and your mind starts to replay old memories. The night she died your sister had taken you back to her room in the Vic and fallen asleep with her arms rapped tightly around you. You had laid there still and numb listening to the sounds little Amy made in her sleep.

If you let go you don't think you could possibly put yourself back together again. You can not begin to fathom the depth of the hurt, guilt and anger you suppress somewhere deep inside. It terrifies you that you have built your entire reason for existence, your entire psyche around a little girl you knew for such a short time, only to find her again and to lose her even quicker. You are ashamed that you continue to betray Danielle by not letting her close to you even in death but it hurts so damn much you fall back on your usual coping method, what else do you have?

In the depth of night when you are completely alone you toy with the idea of letting go because Danielle deserves more and you are so tired. You picture your little girls face and wonder how you could look into Danielle's blue eyes and not see your Amy staring back. You can't let go. The tight hold you have on your emotions is so tight you can barely loosen it. Maybe your father has always been right and there is truly nothing underneath. Maybe you are a selfish, dirty girl incapable of love.

No one needs you any more. You only ever really had Roxy and now your sister had her own Amy who she loves and cares for so much better that you did your own. You are aware of the co-dependent relationship you have with your little sister even though you try not to think about it. How you get dangerously close to controlling her through manipulation sometimes. The thought makes you physically sick when it dawns on you how similar you are to your father. There is poison in your veins.

You turn to vodka when you find your control too great; it helps fill the silent nights when your locket burns against your skin. You are starting to count the people who accuse you of killing Danielle, keeping a stark and tidy list in your mind. You agree and you wish you could tell them that it was okay, that you understood your part in this. How holding your little Amy all those years ago had tainted the girl, made her come back to you, the unfit birth mother years later to be met with nothing but misery.

You wish you could at least cry for her.

You find the right knife in a kitchen draw, the floor cold against your bare feet. You remember Roxy once wielded this particular knife while half jokingly threatening to cut of various parts of Sean's anatomy. You distantly remember laughing hysterically at your sister's vibrant annoyance. It is a memory that feels like it belongs to another person.

You have no idea why you have chosen this particular method but once you get an idea in your head you are often stubborn enough to follow through. Luckily your ideas have never been as outlandish as your sisters. Besides you deserve the pain this will make you feel, it is only small but it is all you have in a way to make amended.

You flex your hand feeling the weight of the wooden handle in your grasp before bringing the blade down firmly against the inside of you opposite wrist. A girl you used to know at school had done this. Rumour had it her parents had found her and saved her. She returned to school a month later with her wrists bandaged tightly. You had found her pathetic.

The pain makes you gasp and your vision waver but your task is over quickly. You take no satisfaction as you slowly skink to the floor, blood warm and sticky as it flows so quickly, but at least you won't hurt anyone else.


End file.
